


mending bridges

by annadavidson



Series: that which shaped the century (a dragon age dual au) [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorianmance Week 2017, Dragon Age Dual AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:59:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9847823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annadavidson/pseuds/annadavidson
Summary: It was obvious he was being avoided.Summary: Pre-relationship, back in Haven, Dorian tries to mend the growing friendship between him and Galen after the two of them have their first big argument.





	

It was obvious he was being avoided. It was like a fire in this forsaken snow covered camp had been put out. A warm presence gone from his side. Both Heralds had that affect – one of the many things he’d started to notice the siblings had in common. A kind heart, soft smile, a warm presence. Thankfully it was only one of the Heralds avoiding him – if it had been both, he would have started to feel unwelcomed at Haven.

Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Galen could have just been busy the past couple days. But Dorian had seen him around Haven, and he hadn’t always appeared busy. And whenever eye contact was made, it was more awkward than before and quickly broken. Admittedly the last conversation he’d had with the young man hadn’t ended on the nicest of terms. It had been an argument that had ended with Galen’s voice rising and anger seeping through.

He hadn’t seen Galen angry since dealing with Alexius, after watching his friends fall before the Elder One’s demons in that future. Galen had been _furious_ with Alexius after that which Dorian was grateful wasn’t the level of anger he had received. Fury was an odd look on Galen. Up until that moment in Redcliffe, he’d seen softness, stubbornness, and sorrow from the Herald. He hoped he’d never see him look that furious at him.

The words yelled at him echoed in his mind at the mere thought of Galen. The memory of the young elf and his words seemed to be intertwined now. He couldn’t think of Galen without remembering those words.

He should have seen it coming. He should have guessed that the topic of his homeland would be a sensitive one. Galen clearly held no love for Tevinter. He knew why _now_. It was hard to forget when it had been yelled at him.

He turned a corner, looking for Aya, the Herald who wasn’t upset with him – as far as he was aware, of course. He stopped short just before he would have collided with someone. Bright emerald eyes stared up at him from a clearly embarrassed face. Galen Lavellan stood in front of him, his cheeks and the tips of his ears darkened with an obvious blush. He looked like he’d been caught in the beginning of a scandal, staring up at him, clearly unable to find words.

Dorian spoke first. “I was beginning to forget what you looked like.”

There was a pause. There was always a pause before Galen said anything, unless he had someone like his sister or childhood best friend to bounce off of. Galen’s ears lowered and shoulders slumped, making him look defeated. Dorian found that he didn’t like that look on the elf. He didn’t like seeing him look defeated.

The guilt could be heard in his voice and seen in the lack of eye contact. “I’m sorry.”

Dorian’s eyes glanced up and down the young man. He was clothed in riding leathers of a Ferelden design, not Dalish. If it wasn’t for the red ink on his face, most people would have assumed he was a city elf. It was clear he was going somewhere, though. He was probably in a rush thus the almost collision between them.

The atmosphere was awkward, borderline uncomfortable. It was hard to know whether or not Galen’s silence was because he was trying to think of what to say next, or he was waiting for Dorian to do something, to say something.

“Oh I’m sure you’ve just been busy,” he found himself saying, earning another look from those emerald eyes. “Everyone dragging you here or there. You are a Hera– rather important person here.” He remembered the distaste Galen had first shown when he’d called him a Herald of Andraste. The young man had asked that he be referred to with his name – first or last, anything except _Herald_. He didn’t seem to even like being reminded of what everyone else called him.

Galen hesitated, “Would… Would you like to get a drink?” He looked up at him with what could only be described as _puppy eyes._

Dorian wondered if he looked into the mirror each day and practiced those eyes. They were highly effective.

“If you insist.”

He followed him to the tavern, where Galen chose a table in the back. Eyes followed them as well as not-so-subtle whispers. It had been two days since the Dalish Herald and Tevinter mage had been seen spending time together. The argument wasn’t a secret, either. Galen’s raised voice had seen to that. Even without knowledge of the argument, he had to admit they made an odd pair. Galen was clearly uncomfortable with the attention, fidgeting with the end of the glove her wore over his Marked hand, the left one.

“I didn’t know you drank,” Dorian said honestly. He wasn’t sure if he spoke up more to try to rid them of the awkward atmosphere or to distract Galen from his uncomfortableness. Still, he had never actually seen Galen drink. Anytime he’d seen him in the tavern, he’d just been spending time with friends. Whenever he had a cup with him, it’d been full of water.

“I’m sorry!” Galen blurted out. He looked like he’d startled himself when he realized the pitch of his voice, how high he’d spoken. He practically sunk back into his seat as pairs of eyes looked over at them, his ears lowering the way they did whenever he got upset or uncomfortable. He repeated, his voice softer this time, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for wanting a drink,” Dorian joked, though he doubted that was what Galen had meant.

Galen huffed, sitting up straight and staring stubbornly at him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Do I?”

“Do _you_ have anything to say to _me?”_

He did, but he wasn’t sure how to say them yet.

This time Galen started fidgeting with the small braid in his hair.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he said eventually.

“Not right now,” came the reply.

The eye contact was gone. Galen stared at the table instead, one hand still fidgeting with his braid. It was a while before he spoke again – long enough for Dorian to order a glass of wine for himself and tea for Galen, who he thought looked like the type to like tea.

“I… I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” Galen slowly admitted.

Dorian’s brow furrowed in confusion. The way Galen wouldn’t stop staring down at the table, the vulnerable look on his face, his hands clasped tightly together. He was being honest, and he looked honestly afraid that Dorian would say _you’re right, I don’t want to see you._

“Why would you think that?” he asked gently. They’d had an argument, yes, but he didn’t recall ever saying or doing anything that meant he didn’t want to see the young man.

It was Galen’s turn to look confused. “I… I upset you?” It was supposed to be a statement, but came out sounding more like a question.

He wasn’t going to deny that. They had both walked away upset that day. “I do recall upsetting you as well.”

“I called you a pompous ass.”

He remembered that part vividly. That had been after Galen had started yelling at him. “You could apologize for that part.” He spoke lightly, jokingly. Galen didn’t catch that.

“I’m sorry I called you–”

 _“Galen,”_ he sighed, pausing as their drinks were finally set down in front of them. He thought over his words carefully, his gaze never leaving the man sitting across from him. “You’re allowed to get upset at people.”

Galen didn’t seem to notice the cups. His voice was quiet yet guarded. “I know that.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Galen shifted in his seat but didn’t answer.

“We’re allowed to disagree–”

“Not on that,” the reply came sharply like the fine tip of a dagger. Galen’s gaze leveled with Dorian. It was then that confirmed that the elf was still upset about their argument. His body language hadn’t changed, but there was a trace of anger in his eyes. A trace that darkened that emerald shade.

There was something about the whole situation that Dorian just didn’t like. Something that made it feel _wrong_. Since they had met at Redcliffe, Galen had been nothing but kind to him. Upon first impression, Galen had seemed more like the type to talk the Venatori to death rather than strike them down with his magic. Now he looked at him the way he’d looked at Alexius, before their trip through time, before that fury. It was an anger that doubled as an accusation. _Magister,_ a title that made him automatically dislike anyone who owned it.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying.

Galen blinked and sat forward, resting his arms on the table. “You are?”

Dorian lightly chuckled. “I’m capable of admitting when I’m in the wrong.”

 _“You are?”_ This time there was a teasing edge to the words and the smallest hint of a grin.

Dorian playfully rolled his eyes before sitting forward himself, speaking seriously, “I’m sorry I upset you, and I promise I don’t want you to avoid me.”

Galen’s hands curled around the cup of tea. The tea had gone cold, but started to steam as his hands heated up with magic. He stopped before the tea started to bubble. “I’m sorry I upset you too… And called you a pompous ass… And for all the things I said to Elaith about you.”

Dorian frowned. “What did you say to Elaith?”

Galen avoided eye contact and shrugged, bringing the cup up to smell the tea. A smile played on his face at the smell. “It… was in a moment of anger. She knows I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Let me guess, she thinks I’m a pompous ass now?”

“Has she told you so?”

“No.”

He shrugged again. “Then no. Elaith speaks her mind. It’s… easier for her than me.”

Dorian lifted his own cup and took a sip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Galen, who had been about to try the tea, paused. “About what?”

“Slavery,” came the cautious reply. It was, after all, the topic that had started their previous argument.

Galen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, lowering the cup. “Why?”

It was Dorian’s turn to shrug. “Don’t you think we should have a civil conversation on the matter?”

Galen shook his head, clearly wanting the subject dropped. “Not here, not now.”

Dorian nodded and took another sip of his wine. He watched as Galen brought the cup to his lips and drank. The look of utter disgust from Galen made him chuckle. The elf managed to swallow, but set the cup down and pushed it away, looking at it as if it were vile.

“Not a tea man?” he inquired.

Galen was still looking at the cup as if it were diseased. “That’s _tea?”_

“Have you had tea?” Dorian couldn’t help himself from smiling. He thought the look on Galen’s face was priceless.

“I’ve had tea,” Galen stated matter-of-factly, _“That_ is not tea.”

 _“Ferelden_ tea, my dear Lavellan.”

“My mother makes better tea. _Dalish_ tea.”

The mention of Ferelden reminded Dorian of Galen’s outfit, clearly riding leathers, most likely courtesy of the Inquisition since they had finally acquired a horse master. He remembered the way Galen had looked to be heading somewhere specific when he’d ran into him.

“How selfish of me,” he pushed his chair back, preparing to stand up. “I’m keeping you from important Inquisition work, aren’t I? I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s running around, looking for you.”

Galen just looked confused.

“You were heading somewhere when we found each other, yes?”

Clarity appeared in Galen’s eyes. _“Oh!”_ he smiled shyly – a look Dorian was surprised to realize he had missed. “I was looking for you.”

_“Me?”_

Galen nodded. “There’s still a lot of fighting going on in the Hinterlands. Y’know, between the mages and Templars? Mother Giselle says refugees are still getting caught in the middle. I thought I’d go and see if I could help out. I thought I could see if they need some extra magic, maybe? I… I don’t know, I can heal people. Aya wants to come along – a few of the others too. And I wanted… Well, I wanted to see if you wanted to come too.”

“You were upset with me but still wanted me to come?” Dorian asked and noticed the blush return to Galen’s face and ears.

Galen shyly looked down at his hands, clasped together, resting on the table. “I uh – I enjoy your company.” He looked up, his gaze coming to settle on the other man, a small, shy smile on his face.

Dorian couldn’t help smiling, as well. “I’d love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like/reblog on Tumblr [here](http://magicrobins.tumblr.com/post/157494790485/mending-bridges).


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